Poems Prose Photography by Ann Michener Winter

Photography

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 09:26:36 +0000

1. Purple and white iris – my backyard.

2. Iguana against ocean backdrop – Bonaire, Dutch Antilles.

3. Passion flower bloom (purple) neighbor’s yard.

4. Old covered bridge – Bend, OR.

5. Poison dart frog – Tambopata, Peru.

6. Black and blue butterflies on sand – Madre de Dios River, Peru.

7. Lioness – Oakland Zoo, California.

8. Red poppy with bee – Santa Barbara, California.

9. Pottery bowls – Lima, Peru.

10. Tulum ruins – Quintana Roo, Mexico

11. Stone path – Alice Keck Park Memorial Gardens, Santa Barbara, California.

12. Open arch to sky and clouds – Antigua, Guatemala.

13. Machu Pichu – Peru.

14. Bubblegum Alley (gum smushed on wall) – San Luis Obispo, California.

15. Harvest moon – my front yard.

Family Memories – Prose

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 08:12:40 +0000

Ann and Tom Michener; below Virginia and Charles Michener

A Gift from the Sea

My dad was a quiet man, much more a listener than a talker. He wasan honest, hard-working man who took only one week of vacationeach summer to take his family (my mother, brother and me) to

Newport Beach, CA.

I was beside myself with excitement for an entire week before this

annual event. I saved my allowance, money from babysitting and

weeding gardens, to spend on trinkets and candy during vacation.

My mother would bake and bring a tin of chocolate chip and peanut

butter cookies which only lasted several days!

On the first morning of our stay at the beach I would get up very

early, dress and race out to the seashore. The smell and sound of the

ocean was so exciting to me! I would then comb the beach for shells,

sand dollars, bits of brightly colored glass and whatever treasures

I could find.

It was also during this time with my family that I got to see a side

of my father that I will treasure forever. He loved to fish, especially

surf fish. Early morning and evening would find him squatting in the

sand behind his surf pole which was set securely in a sand spike.

Dad could squat like that for hours! It was while he was squatting

here that I could watch him and see a very different man than my

working dad.

It was as though he was in a trance, he was very still and his eyes

were fixed on the far horizon or slowly scanning the rhythmic waves.

His face took on that of a child, of happiness and serenity. While he

fished, I would scramble in the wet sand to find sand crabs for him

to bait his hook with. The crabs would scurry to bury themselves

in the sand as the water receded. I would watch for the little hill

they’d make in the sand and quickly scoop them up and put them

into a milk carton at my dad’s side.

As long as I could keep that milk carton filled with crabs, my father

would continue to bait his hook, cast out into the waves, look out

on the ocean, and comfort me with his peaceful countenance.

The Comforts of Home

My mother was a woman of strict routine. Monday was wash day,

Tuesday was ironing day, etc. Duty always came before pleasure.

It was these duties of hers that were a comfort in my life as a child.

On a cold winter afternoon I would come through the back door and

through our service porch to her ironing in the kitchen. It always

smelled so fresh and clean and homey. She dusted our home each

day and always had a fresh rose or some camellias on display in

a lovely vase.

Comforting smells coming from the kitchen are memories I will

forever love. Frying chicken, beef stew simmering on the range top,

cookies or pies baking in the oven, oh, so many wonderful aromas!

All these little things that were a part of her daily routine that have

come to mean a great deal to me.

There was a large age difference between my mother and me and

we disagreed on most things, clothing frequently, but the clothes we

finally settled on usually made me happy. I can remember many of

my dresses in great detail and how much I enjoyed wearing them.

Mom tried to teach me to sew, but we both gave up! She also tried

to teach me how to play bridge; we gave up on that too!!

In frustration I’d usually turn to writing poetry which was

where my heart was.

My Brother Tom

My brother Tom was born almost 4 years before I was with dark

auburn hair. He turned into a beautiful little tow-headed toddler,

and then as he grew, it turned back to dark auburn. The four of

us all had the same hair color and wavy too.

He grew up playing the typical games boys do with boys from

school and our neighborhood. Another typical thing he did was

tease his sister! We all had household chores and he was never

one to shirk his responsibilities.

Some of his friends had sisters my age and we became good friends

and remain so to this day. We went on lots of family trips and had a

lot of fun growing up together.

Tom began his working career in his senior year of high school as a

box boy at the Pantry Food Markets in 1959. He joined the United

States Naval Reserve in 1963. After many years of attending night

classes at Pasadena City College, he received his Associate in

Arts Degree in 1968.

He began his first “real” job as a Central Office Equipment Installer

for the then California Water and Telephone Company in 1961. Tom

remained with the company through many name changes and retired

after 42 years, in 2003. He probably holds the record with the company

for retaining the same job title for the longest number of years.

Tom still lives in Pasadena, owns his own home and enjoys retirement.

He still has his friends, me, his sister, two nephews, one niece,

a great-nephew and many cousins. He still loves keeping track of fire,

police and emergency situations in Pasadena and neighboring communities.

For a time he was a member of the Pasadena Fire Department Arson Watch.

He would patrol hillside areas in hot weather watching for suspicious

persons or situations.

He still loves all things electronic and has his General Class Ham radio

license. Tom has not missed a Rose Parade since it began coming up

Sierra Madre Blvd. in the early 1950s!

He took over the care of our parents’ property when they were no

longer able to do it themselves, he checked on them daily and did many

household chores for them as well. He did all this in addition to taking

care of his own home and yard while holding a full time job. He did all

this lovingly as it was part of being a family.

Tom did the same for our two elderly aunts (our mother’s sisters) who

lived separately, but nearby. He cared for their properties and homes

when they weren’t able to do so, shopped for them and checked on them

regularly to be sure they were safe and well. He never complained and

always gave generously of his time and help to family and friends. I

am so very proud to be his sister and to call him my big brother. I would

do anything in the world for him, as he has done so much for so many!

Those Were the Days

Then the days became shorter and cooler, autumn was in the air.

Mom began cooking hotter, heartier meals. Coming home from

school, I’d love to smell stew simmering on the stove, sometimes

mingled with the smell of freshly ironed clothes. Fried chicken

sizzling in the frying pan was another favorite smell, and freshly

perked coffee!

Lighting the furnace pilot was a fall ritual, that dusty smell from

the first blast of warm air was actually pleasant as I knew I’d be

standing on the furnace grate many mornings to warm myself.

Halloween was always fun. Mom sometimes made a costume,

sometimes I made one myself. Three or four of us would band

together and scour the neighborhood for treats. As Thanksgiving

approached, I loved seeing the leaves turn colors and blow in the wind,

seeing porches decorated for the season and most of all on

Thanksgiving Day all the wonderful smells from my mother’s

delicious holiday meal.

December was a great month. Time off from school, all the sights,

sounds, and smells of the Christmas season. I loved getting our Christmas

tree and decorating it. We always bought a toy for our cocker spaniel

and he always sniffed it out from among all the gifts under the tree!

We had lots of aunts, uncles and cousins living in the area and we

would host a big Christmas Eve party. My brother Tom and I were

allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve, so as the evening went on,

we were almost anxious for everyone to leave!

New Year’s Eve was a special time at our home. Living on the

boulevard, the Rose Parade passed right in front of our house!!! For days

ahead, campers, trailers and cars would mark a spot to camp out for the

big day. The day before the parade people were allowed to put out blankets,

chairs, benches, etc. to mark their spots to view the parade and at midnight

were allowed to put one row of seats down into the street. It was really fun

at midnight when people were bundled up in sleeping bags,

had bonfires, played cards, roasted hot dogs, etc. At midnight the yelling,

singing horn blowing and partying would begin and last to early dawn. No

one got much sleep! We had family and friends stay over at our house.

My mom would fix a big breakfast for everyone, but people brought food

with themtoo. We’d then head out to get our seats and wait for the parade.

Finally, around the bend in the boulevard would come the first official

cars of the parade and the fun would begin. 2 1/2 hours of horses, floats,

bands and good old-fashioned fun.

When it was over, we’d take our chairs and benches back to our house

where my poor mom had been putting together a big lunch, again people

helped by bringing food. We’d have ham, baked beans, drinks, chips, etc.

This was all in preparation for the Rose Bowl Game which was the next big

event of the day. Everyone would crowd around in our living room

to watch. Outside the streets and sidewalks were filled with people going up

the street to the park to view the floats. This would go on for about 3 days.

Then the floats were taken away.

January, February and March were months of wintry weather and getting

the soil ready for spring planting. Our dad did a wonderful job of growing

flowers, especially sweet peas. He was well known for his huge arbor of them.

We always had a bouquet of them in the house and oh, that wonderful smell.

Our mother always had fresh flowers in the house, even if it was just one

rosebud. She loved to float camellias in flat dishes too, they were lovely.

June was a wonderful month, it meant school would be out soon! I always

joined the Summer Reading Program at the Lamanda Park Library. I think

I loved the library itself just as much as reading. It was a big wooden structure

that smelled of wood, oil soap and books.

Summer was fun too because I could skate, ride my bike, play with friends,

vacation at Newport Beach, read, play badminton, basketball, cards and

watch TV. I had many chores to do to, but that was fine, I still had plenty

of time to play.

Summer also meant root beer floats in the evening on the back patio swing.

As summer would draw to a close, I’d treasure all the fun I’d had over the

summer and look forward to seeing friends back at school and starting

the fall season all over again.

As the years go by, I cherish these memories more and more and am so happy

to have lived them.

Family Memories © 2006-2007 Ann Winter
Santa Barbara, California USA
Photos at top -
First: Ann and Tom Michener
Second: Mrs. and Mr. Virginia and Charles Michener
Photo credits with essays – Ann Winter

The Shamrock and the Thistle – Poems

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 08:01:15 +0000

The World’s Need
“So many gods, so many creeds,
So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind,
Is all the sad world needs.”
quote by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855-?)
from Little Book of American Poets

To all of the lovely people I met on my travels
through Ireland and Scotland in June 1998.

Ireland

Ireland, Sweet Ireland

Ireland, sweet Ireland
A sight to behold
Around every corner
Your green fields unfold.

Fair skin, blue eyes
Bright smiles and freckles
Rosy-cheeked children
Riding horses with speckles.

Hills of green velvet
In mist, sun and shade
Sweet smell of clover
From deep in the glade.

Under the moonlight
The fairies come dancing
Mischievous pookas
And leprechauns prancing.

All in a ring
‘Round the fire they go
Singing and laughing
‘Till the moon’s sinking low.

Back in the city
Color marks every door
Pubs on each corner
We’ll stop at one more.

Sweet tempered servers
Greet us at dinner
We can see by the menu
We’ll go home no thinner.

Ireland, sweet Ireland
Your food, hearth and kin
Have stolen our hearts
We’ll be back again!

Little Clover

Little clover in the rock
Blowing in the wind.
Smiling at the summer sun
Then cast in shade again.

Your face upturned for all to see
To stoop and smile at you.
But if they pass and don’t look down
You feel a little blue.

All day and night you stand on guard
O’er rocky hill and dale.
Your soft green leaves salute the sky
Your vigil never fails.

Seasons come and seasons go
And still your head’s held high.
Your pride is true, your job is set
Till the close of life draws nigh.

Déjà vu

Have I been here before?
It certainly seems so.
Do I know these people?
I really can’t say.

The scents evoke a quickened heartbeat
People’s faces evoke a smile in me.
The sights evoke tears of familiarity
What can this all mean?

This is all so strange
I feel it in every cell of my body.
It warms and comforts me
How can this possibly be?

Alas, nothing is impossible
How very little we really know
Of the world before and beyond.

By the Irish Sea

Each twilight
Looking out to sea.
Waiting for the faint sight
Of the fishermen’s boat.

Home fires burning
Cattle are lowing
Winds whipping skirts and shirttails
All as day draws to a close.

The days are long
The seas are cold
This mist is low
And spirits drag.

Then it is spied, the tiny boat
Heading home, flags flying
It’s been a good day, a good catch
God is generous with His blessings.

More peat on the fire
Heat the kettle
Light the candles
Get out the fiddle and share a smile.

Children gather to help prepare supper
Chores are the right time for song.
All is well in the little thatched cottage
Joy, peace and love to end the day.

Harley, the Gordon Setter

Dear Harley,
The guardian of Bundoran
Looking out to sea
Then back, surveying his shore.

Wind in his fur
Heaven in his eyes
Wet and sandy
Full of life.

Chasing gulls
Splashing in the surf
Sand flying from his feet.
Tongue wagging out the side of his mouth.

Ears flapping in the wind
Tail waving in a proud salute.

This is Harley’s heaven
The sands of Bundoran.
May he run free
For many years to come.

Scotland

On the Loch

Tossing about on Loch Ness
In a little wooden skiff
Hoping to catch a glimpse of Nessie
Through the peat clouded water.

Passing by a cozy inlet
Small fishing vessels bob
Side by side, keeping time
As if in a dance.

Further along
An old castle sits statuesquely on a hill.
Part of it becomes shrouded in mist off the loch.

Suddenly, outlined in the fog
Is a lone bagpiper.
His mournful sounds fill the air
You can almost touch his music.

Coming out of the mist
A castle emerges on the hill
All these lovely sights
Alas, no sight of Nessie.

Stony Brook

Sitting by a stony brook
A tall green reed in hand.
Listening to the water’s song
Looking ‘oer the land.

Wondering where this waters been
Wondering where it goes.
Singing on its merry way
As day and night it flows.

Skipping over rocks so smooth
Winding ‘round the bend
Keeping time with nature’s tune
Looking for the end.

Lying back amid the green
Looking toward the sky
Could this be what heaven is like?
By gosh, I’d like to die.

The Highlands

Heather is abloom on all the moors
Rosebud pink and buttery yellow
Out crops of thistle tufts
Sprout through craggy rocks
Showing off their lavender hues.

Winds begin to blow
The clouds across the sky
Shadowing the hillsides
In tones of blue and gray.

Not a soul in sight
What a great feeling
All alone in the hills
Breathe deeply.

Savor the heavenly fragrance of the moors
A smell to capture forever
In your heart, mind and soul.

Castles

Storm clouds gather behind the castle
Tall and stone cold
Giving an extra aura of eeriness.

Spires jut skyward as though
Hoping to be lifted to heaven.
Windows of every shape and size
Reflect the blackness within.

Balconies stand empty
Birds have moved into
Every eave and crevice.

Moats are strewn
With leaves and dirt
Where water once secured the castle
And all its inhabitants.

The birds and the wind
Are the only sounds
As the crumbling structure
Blends into the Scottish mist.

In Sweetheart Abbey

This old graveyard transports you
To a time long go, in mind and spirit.
The very air
Is filled with a calm and peacefulness.
White, gray and black clouds
Huddle overhead giving a chill to the air.

The cracked and toppled tombstones
Try to hold their heads high.
Once lovely gray granite and slate
Honoring those who are gone
Are now whitened with age and weather.

Those resting here cannot be identified
As the epitaphs are no longer legible.
Although the yard is quiet
It is still filled with the aura of those who
Rest beneath the soft green grass.

They were once loved enough
To be carefully placed in this beautiful spot
And have tender words
Engraved in stone for all who care to see.

No flowers bedeck these graves
As those who put them here
Are gone as well.

Writings, Photography © 2001-2006 Ann Winter
Photograph at top – Sweetheart Abbey, Scotland
Santa Barbara, California USA

Friends for all Reasons – Poems

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 07:50:49 +0000

from Deepak Chopra:
“Everyone has a purpose in life…a unique
gift or special talent to give to others.
And when we blend this unique talent with
service to others, we experience the ecstasy
and exultation of our own spirit, which is
the ultimate goal of all goals.”

JUST FOR AWHILE

Take me away
Just for awhile.
Away from worry
To a restful style.
Let the music
Soothe my nerves.
While incense burns
Into soft white curves.
Release in me
An inner strength.
To face life’s woes
No matter their length.
Let me carry myself
With grace and ease.
Although in my heart
Lie so many pleas.
Sandalwood scent
Water gently flowing.
Harp strings playing
While cares I’m delaying.
Take me away
Just for a time.
To refresh my soul
During this life of mine.

SWEET VIOLA

Oh, those eyes!
Bright blue and twinkling.
Daring the devil to cross her path.
A study in quick wit, yet
A soothing mother’s tongue.
A ready smile and a chipper laugh
For all who knew and loved her.
Vi was a great source of joy in my life.
I so admired her no-nonsense approach to life.
Yet her gentle manner in lifting my spirits
Provided me with much solace.
Vi was so many things my own mother couldn’t be.
But she helped me to see that my mother
Was all that she could be.
She always encouraged me to be myself.
To be true to that self, to love that self.
She pushed me to stand up for myself
Not to be walked upon by anyone.
Even though Vi is gone from our midst
She still walks beside me daily
As my guardian angel.
When I visit her resting place
I feel her strong spirit cheering me on
To complete my life work, with no fear
Of self-imposed guilt or shame.
In happiness and sadness
I can allow my tears to fall freely
In her spiritual presence.
I am reassured that she will always be there
To call upon for strength and love.
Until we meet again,
Sweet Viola, I miss you so.

- Dedicated to the memory of my dear friend Viola Dulen

AFTERNOON SONG

A subtle breeze
Touches the long silver tubes.
Awakening each chime
In joyful harmony.
All who hear
Are treated to the mystically soothing tones.
All who see
Are witness to the tiny light flashes
Reflected as the sun warms the slender tubes.
The song swells and ebbs
As breezes come and go.
Leaving the air filled
With hymns of peace.

HAROLD

Perched on the wire, eyes alert.
Watching the kitchen window
Waiting for a face to appear.
There she is! She sees me!
She turns and heads for the back door.
I can hardly wait!
The back door opens and out she comes.
Always a smile and a “Hello Harold”
She thinks I’m beautiful and smart.
I love her for that
And for what she holds in her hand.
My treasured peanut!

HEAVY THE HEART, SAD THE SOUL

Heavy the heart that cares not for others
Sad the soul that reflects no ones love.
Heavy the heart that lets in no light
Sad the soul that does not shine.
Heavy the heart that lets no one near
Sad the soul that endures alone.
Heavy the heart that lacks humor
Sad the soul that laughs alone.
Heavy the heart that fears life
Sad the soul that lives without joy.
Heavy the heart that sees not the rise and set of the sun
Sad the soul that suffers endless days.
Heavy the heart that cannot love nature
Sad the soul that cannot enjoy God’s creations.
Heavy the heart that dies in solitude
Sad the soul that is missed by no other.
Heavy the heart that doesn’t know God
Sad the soul that knows not yet bliss.

FRIENDLY ENCOUNTERS

Among those things I call “a friend”
Are natures’ gifts, on which I depend.

A wagging tail
A slow-paced snail.

A cat’s meow
A lowing cow.

A whooping crane
A horse’s mane.

A butterfly wing
A fairy ring.

A raven’s caw
A fuzzy black paw.

All these things and so much more,
Gain friends, gain love,
Get out, explore.

THANK YOU, STATION 12

When emergencies arise
There is no consideration of day and time,
Of person or place.
Fate takes a front row seat
And halts all else.
Fear replaces calm,
As time stands still.
Feeling helpless and fragile,
Our need is urgent.
But YOU are there.
We look up into eyes
We must trust with our lives.
A smile to ease the terror within.
Comforting words, reassuring touches
We must believe in.
A hand to hold
Is an anchor to reality
In an unreal situation.
Every day your gift is given
To those of us in need.
It is given out of love, duty, and concern.
It is accepted with our deepest thanks
And our greatest admiration.
May God keep each of you
And your loved ones
Always in His special care.

A FATHER’S PRAYER

Tears fall softly on auburn curls
Encircling a tiny head.
Sweet moisture nourishing a tiny face.
Rose pink lips part in expectation
Eyes lift, twinkling with trust.
Lord, help me love and protect
This priceless gift You have entrusted to me.
Guide me along my path in life
So that I might show her the way.
Help me to instill the love of giving
The courage to hope in the face of doubt
And always to trust in Your answers.

FRIENDSHIP

This is for you my friend
You, who are always there for me.
Beside me when I’m up
Pushing me up when I’m down.
Praising my talents
Strengthening my faults
Listening to me, in silence
Letting me grieve as long as I need.
Teaching me to be all that I can
Letting me fall, but giving me the courage
To pick myself up
And give it another try.
Our thoughts often cross
Before our paths cross.
We are aware of the presence of each other
On an earthly level and beyond.
As years go by and our senses dim,
It is then that we shall truly “see”
The depth and strength of our friendship.
As our hearts beat more slowly
Our souls begin to shine more brightly
Heading toward the path
To eternal friendship and love.
Thank you for sharing this journey
With me, my friend.
You have helped make the path easier to walk.
And your love and support have made my life whole.

- To my dear friend Adela (Lolly) Contreras-O’Donnell

FROM LONELINESS TO SOLITUDE

We enter the world alone.
We leave the world alone.
We stand before God alone.
Aloneness is a universal human experience.
There is great value in standing alone.
Being aware of aloneness
And not loneliness, (which is negative)
Is a state not many of us achieve.
We fear being alone with ourselves.
We try to fill that void (avoid the void)
With distractions, people, noise, etc.
We fear the quiet path leading to our inner selves,
And the dark side of our hearts.
But, it is in such solitude that we discover
Our inner riches and strengths,
And discover too, the real person God has created.
In solitude we can find our true connection to God.
The desert is an image of solitude.
Many go there to seek peace and joy.
Our hearts are receptacles during these peaceful times
And nature can provide the space to be present with ourselves.
Other settings for the introduction of solitude
Are sunrises, sunsets, oceans, rainbows, etc.
As the flower blooms in the silent desert,
So may our hearts bloom in peaceful solitude.

Friends for all Reasons © 1999 Ann Winter
Santa Barbara, California USA; Photo credit Ann Winter; Santa Barbara Summer Solstice, Santa Barbara, California

Looking Back – Poems

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 07:41:33 +0000

“Every act of love is work of peace, no matter how small.”
~ Mother Teresa

The Treasured Dish

You see, it was my mother’s meatloaf dish.
As a child, I remember coming home from school
to the unmistakable aroma of meatloaf and baking potatoes.

That dish was used by me for more than forty years,
first preparing meatloaf for a new husband,
then for a growing family,
and finally back to the two of us.

Taking that dish from the cupboard, holding it in my hands,
shaping the loaf, baking and serving it
had always been a secret, spiritual connection between my mother and me.

Several years ago, on a rainy afternoon
while preparing meatloaf and reminiscing with mom,
the dish accidentally dropped from my greasy hands
crashing to the floor into so many pieces.

Speechless, and in tears, I sank to the kitchen floor.
Disbelief and shards of glass were all that remained of
our treasured dish.

Slowly and gently , the fragmented memories
were reverently placed into a paper bag.
The bag remained on the kitchen counter for nearly a week.
To have carelessly tossed it into the trash
would have been painful and irreverent.

Alas, recycle day came,
a goodbye was said, and the bag was placed in the bin.

My new meatloaf dish is nice, but it’s not my mother’s.
However, as a mother, hopefully someday
after I’m gone, my daughter or daughters-in-law
will happen upon my dish and continue making meals
filled with memories and love.

A Penny from Heaven

Finding a penny has always instantly
brought back loving thoughts of my father.
Some say pennies mean our loved ones are thinking of us.
I believe it!

Usually I smile, pick up the penny
and put it into my coin purse.
Not this one, it seemed different somehow.
One end was bent and tarnished
yet it felt comfortable in my hand.
I set it in the cup holder in my car.

What was my attraction to this penny?
And what was the tie to my father?
The only thing that came to mind was the mint date.
It couldn’t possibly be his birth year, 1908,
the penny didn’t look that old.

Aha, it had to be 1987, the year of his death.
I grabbed the penny from the cup holder
and with tears in my eyes beheld the date, 1987!

I DO believe pennies fall from heaven!

My Father’s Tackle Box

On a shelf up high in my garage
is a beautiful box of wood,
made by my father’s loving hands
far back in my childhood.

It’s the tackle box in which he placed
with ever so much care,
the fishing flies he tied by hand
with feathers, yarn and hair.

Each black gnat, nymph, bucktail or bee
is the perfect shape and size
to lure the fish upon his line
this was their sad demise?

To open this polished, golden box
is to see dad’s smiling eyes,
as he always let me be a part
of his world of tying flies.

The Flowered Apron

There hung a simple cotton apron
adorned with delicate violets.
White rick rack rimmed the edges of the big pockets
and surrounded the ample bib.

This apron saw duty through all seasons and celebrations
of the year for many years,
but it was the little, everyday things
that forever remain in my mind.

Those pockets held the clothes pins
for hanging the family clothes,
fresh flowers from her garden were carefully
picked and gathered into her folded apron.

Lemons and avocados found their way into the apron,
as well as many fruits and vegetables.
Twice daily in good weather
peanuts and stale bread crumbs would be lovingly strewn
to her eager bevy of birds.

As grandchildren came along, those pockets were filled
with a variety of homemade cookies.
The only time the apron was empty was when it was in the wash!

As the years went by and mom slowed down,
the apron hung on the hook more often than not
but the memories clung to every inch of fabric.

I took the apron from the hook after she died,
and the first thing I did was check the pockets.
There I found the meaning of her life.

An S&H green stamp for her frugality,
a peanut for her sweet generosity,
and a flowered handkerchief for wiping
tears of joy and sadness
as she touched our lives with hers.

Thin Skin

Prancing about in the sand and surf
with that healthy brown glow. Damn!

There she sits, under a satellite sized umbrella.
lathered in sunscreen,
broad-brimmed hat atop her head,
sunglasses resting on her zinc oxide nose,
long sleeves, long pants, shoes and socks!

Geez, a mummified geek!

Envious green eyes gaze upon the lovely young people
frolicking about while the mummy reads.

Oh, the curse of Irish skin!
Red hair, pale skin, and more freckles than one can count.
To uncover the mummy would be to endure the tortures
of burn and peel, burn and peel,
and more and more freckles!

Alas, there is a treasured memory tucked away in this story.
As a little girl, almost every day my father would
look down upon me, smile and say,
“Annie, honey, I absolutely love your freckles.”

The Magic Kite

Two thin strips of wood, the spine and the spar,
measured, sawed and sanded to perfection,
tied at cross angles with twine to form the frame;
the magic had begun.

Colored tissue paper cut into exact triangles
and carefully set aside.
Water and flour mixed in an old blue porcelain bowl
were also readied.

A notch was cut in the end of each stick,
enough twine was cut to fit around the frame, forming the tail.
Stretching, looping, fastening and wrapping ,
taut but not too tight.

Tissue was then pasted and folded over the string frame.
A piece of twine was tied at each end of the loop
and a little one at the intersection of the two cross pieces.
This forms the bridle, the twine to which the flying line is attached.

Now old sheeting was torn into little rectangles
and attached to the loop at the bottom of the frame.
At last it was time to wind the flying line around the wooden stick.
By now I was grinning from ear to ear.

Checking the wind,
we’d jump into the car with our precious cargo,
and off to the park we’d go.
Others were there with their store bought kites,

BUT,
Dad had MADE my kite!
Every inch was crafted by him
right down to the glue!

He had no instructions,
he used just his head and hands
and items in the garage.

I was the luckiest girl in the world
able to watch magic created with
paper, sticks, glue and string.

And I was the proudest girl ever
to watch my dad’s kites soar above all others;
so high they could barely be seen.
I was the envy of every child in the park
and so proud of my father and his magic kites.

Santa Barbara, California USA

Photo credit Ann M. Winter – St. Mary’s Retreat Center, Santa Barbara, CA

The WRITE Way to Recovery – Poems

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 07:38:37 +0000

“In detachment lies wisdom of uncertainty…
in the wisdom of uncertainty lies the freedom
from our past, from the known,
which is the prison of past conditioning.
And in our willingness to step into the
unknown, the field of all possibilities,
we surrender ourselves to the creative mind
that orchestrates the dance of the universe.”
- quote from Deepak Chopra

NEGATIVITY

Like the black of night
It is the absence of light
Of nourishment.

Seeking to disease body and soul
With fantasies, thoughts, and images.

Negativity is the death of life
Taking hope, courage, and love
Leading them into an abyss of anger and hate.

Its only path is despair.
Travel too long and become one
With the black of night.

PLEADING HEART

Mom, I see you standing there, so stern, so still
A little distance away my child-self stands pleading,
“Mommy, please say you love me.”

Beside my child-self stands my adult-self begging,
“Mom, just once, please tell me you love me.”

PLEASE!

The words never come, there is only silence
I will wait and not give up hope.

Was I unwanted, therefore unloved?
Only you can tell me, only you.

Sometimes I weep as I wait for a response
I grow so weary straining to hear
Just a whisper.
Watching, waiting, afraid to look away
Afraid I’ll miss the slightest expression of love.

A tiny smile, a twinkle in your eye, an outstretched hand
Any of these would ease my pain

I long for your voice close to my ear.
Tender words of comfort to heal my heart.

Alas, this is not to be.
I pray to understand and forgive your unending silence.

DEODAR

Oh, Deodar, standing there
How long has it been?
Will the end be coming soon?

Your boughs so long bent in despair
No longer looking skyward
Looking soulfully earthward, praying for the end.

Raindrops dripping softly from your boughs in winter
Tears of sadness quenching the ground below.

Spring, bringing new growth only to be choked
By smog, grit, and pollution.
No gentle breezes bringing song birds on the wind
To raise your branches in joy.

Only the bane of traffic
Sirens, screeching tires, trains, aircraft
All adding to the poison held within your greenery
Stunting growth, denying life.

The heat and oppression of summer
Browning your needles, to fall
Forming a carpet of dark, dusty, crunchy death.

Oh Deodar, the sunrises and sunsets you have seen
The many seasons come and go
Natures’ birth and death around you.

May you soon be at peace
Resting safe in the refuge of the earth.

FIRE IN THE HEART

The anger in my heart is a poisonous venom
Permeating every cell.

It threatens to melt, blacken, and decay my very being
A cinder of hate held deep within.

Anger, held a lifetime, yearning to be unleashed
But at what price? The fear is great.

To let down my guard, to shed my armor
To open my boundaries is to bare the hole in my soul.

My invisible thorns spring forth
Armoring me against those who venture
Near the sensitivity of my heart.

Oh to fulfill the deepest desire
The cool waters of peace and love
Flowing gently over my body
Washing away the heat, soothing the rage.

Peace, come to me, stay awhile.
Let me know your comforting wings of love.

HURTFUL WORDS, HEALING WISDOM

Verbal poison invades my serenity
Raising fear and anxiety
Sending me into a state of paralysis.

This violation of peace thrusts me back
To a time of submission and silence.

This thrust imprisons mind and body
Disapproving, authoritative words of others
Evoke a sudden terror within.

Terror, understood only by those whose early life
Was shadowed by the threat of shame and guilt.

I am unable to express the intimidation
The humiliation felt when insensitive criticism
Or boastful orders are hurled my way.

I consciously remind myself, I am an adult
Responsible for my own beliefs, actions, and feelings.
I don’t have to take on those of others.

I am precious, a gift of the Spirit
Worthy of love and respect
My life has validation.

No longer do others’ actions and words
Have to destroy my peace.
I can place boundaries around toxins
Whether persons or situations.

I can leave others
To face the consequences of their own actions.

I am free
To choose health over sickness
Happiness over despair.

And, best of all

I am free to choose love, not fear
In my life.

A FATHER’S PRAYER

Tears fall softly on auburn curls
Encircling a tiny head.

Sweet moisture nourishing a tiny face.
Rose pink lips part in expectation
Eyes lift, twinkling with trust.

Lord, help me love and protect
This priceless gift You have entrusted to me.
Guide me along my path in life
So that I might show her the way.

Help me to instill the love of giving
The courage to hope in the face of doubt
And always to trust in Your answers.

MEMORY GARDEN

Step into the garden, step into the past
Let your mind wander, let the memories last.

Open your ears, let the voices drift through
Fill all your senses with old days anew.

The family and friends we so long ago met
Come close to our hearts, let us never forget.

Each one has a place in our lives through the years
Give thanks for the joy, the peace, and the tears.

Each person a bright shining star to behold
Smile, reminisce, like a story retold.

The parents, the brothers, and sisters we love
Have traveled life’s paths with help from above.

Sharing our secrets, our fears, and our dreams
Recalling these treasures like yesterday, it seems.

Going on picnics, to dinner, to the shore
Stoking the fire, planting gardens, and more.

Hand in hand with dear childhood friends
Keeping in touch through the years, to the end.

Each flower has color and life, like ourselves
Some stand out, are counted, some stay on the shelves.

As time marches forward, petals fade and fall
So do our loved ones, dear friends one and all.

But for now take the time to remember the past
For people, like gardens, by nature can’t last.

SILENCE

Find bliss
In the full emptiness of silence.

Be mindful
Of spaces between moments in life.

Listen to the thoughts
Between the words.

Awareness of quiet
Is calming for the body
Salve for the soul.

Hear tranquil tones
Between the notes.

Be still, take pleasure.

Peace is silence
Silence is peace.

TO LIVE IS TO FORGIVE

Oh Lord, bring peace to the bygone days
To see my child clearly, not through a haze.

To recall the days and years with gladness
Not dwell on that time with gloom and sadness.

To relearn each word like a new fresh scent
Not live in fear of what each statement meant.

To speak my peace and to take a stand
Not being vigilant of an open hand.

To listen to the voices of family so near
Not cover my ears to the words I so fear.

Dear Mother and Father, please take my hand
Tell me at last that you understand.

Smile at me, touch me, tell me you love me
Accept and believe me, don’t doubt and judge me.

Don’t tell me I shouldn’t, wouldn’t, or can’t
Nurture the seeds of freedom I plant.

Although you’ve gone to a calm, peaceful place
You’ve left me a lifetime of pain to erase.

The daughter you knew is now slowly leaving
Trying to release the worry and grieving.

To recapture youth through a new, happy child
To adulthood I’ll travel, hoping paths will be mild.

Dear Mother and Father, you did what you could
You shared your upbringing, the bad and the good.

I now give myself the permission I deserve
To know and to love me, with no hidden reserve.

The hard work ahead is to build a new life
To give it my best as mother, sister, and wife.

I’m no longer angry for what you didn’t know
And so thankful to be learning to live and let go.

Santa Barbara, California USA

Photo credit Ann Winter; Bonaire, Dutch Antilles

A Sense of Nature – Poems

amwinter — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 07:33:46 +0000

“Nature’s intelligence functions with
effortless ease…with carefreeness,
harmony, and love.
And when we harness the forces of harmony,joy, and love,
we create success and good fortune with effortless ease.”
- quote from Deepak Chopra

FEATHERED ANGELS

Softly, lightly they come
Gliding, gently floating
Cool breezes brush past wings
Fashioned by nature
To blend with life
To give life, to warm life.

Feathers hued and nestled to perfection
Fan the air in whispered waves
Each wave brings closeness
To sky or to earth.

Each night, tucked into natures’ foliage
For protection, for peace, for sleep
To gain strength, courage
And hope for a new day.

Each dawn singing praises to the sky
Calling us to listen to simplicity and clarity
Asking us to share the joy of natures’ peacefulness

It is all there.
Let Feathered Angels lead our minds and our hearts.

A STROLL THROUGH AUTUMN

The changing leaves signal the arrival of autumn
Gorgeous shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown
Remind me of the pleasures at hand.

Briskly walking in the crisp air, crunching leaves beneath my feet
Fall energizes me as no other season can.

The air is filled with the woodsy smell
Of the season’s first fireside gatherings.
Breathing deeply brings a sense of comfort and well being.

Animals’ coats thicken to insulate them
Against the coming winter chill.
Summer birds take wing, while winter birds arrive
To take up residence for the mild winter.

Plants slow their growth to store energy
For shorter days and cooler nights.
Spring bulbs lie dormant beneath the soil.

Roadside pumpkin stands display hay bales and colored corn
To welcome and encourage happy wanderers
To stroll through the maze of pumpkins.

The foods of autumn bring about fond memories.
Crisp juicy red apples, warm pumpkin pie
Mixed nuts in pretty wooden bowls
Waiting to be cracked and eaten.

Hot spicy cider and hot chocolate
Tantalize the nose and awaken the taste buds.

The sky seems bluer this time of year
And extra stars seem to dot the night-time sky.
The mountains show a more defined silhouette
As the sun settles behind them.

The sea waves take on a darker and colder appearance
As the ocean temperature starts to drop.

The changing season is a time of reflection and appreciation
Of nature, of our lives, and of those we love.

RAIN

Beads of liquid crystal
Tiny life forces borne in silence
Their purpose planned
Their journey swift
Sweet melody of nature
The earth sighs
The world is quenched.

AFTERNOON SONG

A subtle breeze touches the long silver tubes
Awakening each wind chime in joyful harmony.

All who hear are treated to the mystically soothing tones
All who see are witness to the tiny light flashes
Reflected as the sun warms the slender chimes.

The song swells and ebbs as breezes come and go
Leaving the air filled with hymns of peace.

SPOTTED FROGGIE

Spotted froggie on the pond
Dreaming of the world beyond.
What’s it like out on the land
Or held securely in a child’s small hand?

So far this pond has been my home
I’ve never ventured out alone
What would I do to fill my day?
My friends would not be there to play.

Would it be safe to sleep at night?
Would scary sounds create a fright?
Would daylight bring a nice, new friend?
Or, would I, alone wait for day to end?

This pond looks better all the time
I eat, and sleep, and croak sublime.
Each day is peaceful, joyful fun
Cool clean water, warm toasty sun.

I think I’ll stay right here at home
That way I’ll never be alone.
Amid my family, home, and friends
A happy life that never ends.

CLOUDS

Cottony cradles rocking
Slowly through the sky.
Angelic forms gliding
On heavenly paths.
Soft wisps
High above the earth
Passing in a silent ballet.

FRIENDLY ENCOUNTERS

Among those things I call “a friend”
Are natures’ gifts, on which I depend.

A wagging tail
A slow-paced snail.

A cat’s meow
A lowing cow.

A whooping crane
A horse’s mane.

A butterfly wing
A fairy ring.

A raven’s caw
A fuzzy black paw.

All these things and so much more,
Gain friends, gain love,
Get out, explore.

WINTER WANDERINGS

Gazing eastward to the pinkish red glow
Fogging the window with my breath’s hearty blow.

Frosty rooftops gleam down the way
Give us hope of a clear, crisp day.

The longer the nights, the shorter the days
Cause blossoms to stretch to the sun’s sweet rays.

Birds line the wires, looking pudgy and full
After feeding on seeds, leaving only the hull.

Mid-day showers quench flowers’ sweet faces
Reaching the foliage in high and low places.

Rain clouds blow over to uncover the sun
Children jumping through puddles, laughing in fun.

The sun travels westward and shadows grow long
The songbird sits silent, he’s finished his song.

Dusk settles in as a chill fills the air
Aromas from kitchens send trails everywhere.

Evenings in winter can be cloudy or clear
Or blustery, indicating a storm is quite near.

Silvery moonbeams through leafless trees play
Forming shadows along the walkway.

When night steals in and brings all to rest
Relax, cuddle up, this is winter at its best.

FOG

Tendrils of swirling white mist
Reaching far into the night.

Feel the cool, damp blanket of comfort, or
The breathless, strangled embrace of oppression.

All becomes an invisible part
Of the misty realm.

The world is diminished
To the space of a breath.

We seem of no consequence
Keep the faith.

Spirits will rise again
Along with the fog.

HAROLD

Perched on the wire, eyes alert.
Watching the kitchen window
Waiting for a face to appear.

There she is! She sees me!
She turns and heads for the back door.

I can hardly wait!
The back door opens and out she comes.

Always a smile and a “Hello Harold”
She thinks I’m beautiful and smart.

I love her for that
And for what she holds in her hand.
My treasured peanut!

CREATURES OF GOD

Animals bring to us a love not found in (the) humankind.

Theirs is a love of unspoken warmth, companionship, and tenderness.
Theirs is an unconditional love, born out of trust and loyalty.

All creatures in nature are created from God’s love
And formed in His true delight.

Each has a special place in the cycle of life.
Whether fur, feather, quill, scale, skin, or hide,
Their existence is essential to the balance and continuation
Of harmony in our universe.

The comfort we receive from earthly creatures is soulful,
And at times heavenly.

The bond between animals and humans is one not easily broken.
Even in death,
Beloved animals stir love, comfort, and fond memories.

We learn so much from the simple lives and love of animals
Let us always remember to hold them firmly in our love,
As they hold us firmly in their trust.

FLOWERS

Looking to heaven in silence
Yet speaking volumes
In fragrance and color.
Praising their Creator
With glorious radiance
In thanks
For their perfect creation

PROMISE OF SPRING

The earth, warmed by longer days and gentle rain
Has once again given birth to the promise of spring.

Bulbs stretching into tender shoots
Now reach to the heavens for light and strength.

An aura of sensitivity reigns in the garden
As each flower whispers its magic of color and fragrance.

Breezes play melodies of light on petals
Each note calling to birds, bees, and lady bugs to linger awhile
Drink in the nectar and radiance of spring.

Thrill to the silhouette, hue, and aroma
Each bloom brings forth.

Under the moonlit cover of darkness
Frogs and crickets nestle in
To serenade the garden until the coming of dawn.

And, as the sun awakens the morning dew
While smiling down on the earth,
Feel the serenity and joy of nature’s palette
As it satisfies the senses and nourishes the soul.

SKY

My true blue friend
I awaken to your splendor
And am sheltered beneath you.

When you are hidden away
Sadness enters my heart.

When once again you appear
I smile.

My beautiful vision in blue.

GREAT PACIFIC

Oh great Pacific, I stand before you in awe
Your command for respect leaves me vigilant, yet
Your magnificence beckons me.

Searching your depth and breadth
For answers to heavenly thoughts
Is too difficult for this mortal soul.

As impossible as counting the grains of sand on the shore
Is the task of grasping your greatness.

Amid this ever changing world, you remain a constant
Your swells reaching skyward
Then plummeting with untold weight
To your darkened depths
Salty foam rolling in with the tide, retreating again
To your vast blue-green bosom.

Shimmers of light dance atop your wave tips
Salty spray drifts to me, sweetly stinging my cheeks
Closing my eyes, my other senses become heightened.

Aware of your essence in touch, sound, sight, and smell
Brings me close to my place in the universe.
Oh great Pacific, you make me feel an integral part
Of this whole world.

Santa Barbara, California USA

Photo credit Ann Winter; San Marcos Gardens, Santa Barbara, California